


Weeds Grow Back, Wounds Heal (Though The Latter Takes Longer)

by turtleduckanarchy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, ivy's new 52 origin, nothing straight written in but like it's still there, the whole joker and harley abuse cycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 19:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10315028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtleduckanarchy/pseuds/turtleduckanarchy
Summary: Growing up, Pamela Isley watched her own family crumble with the plague that was her father.  Now, Poison Ivy watched as a new home did the same, but with new faces and names.  And maybe even with a new end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading Ivy's New 52 origin again, and I was like, "Hey, why not?" So I give you, Poison Ivy musings of the cycle of abuse, starting from her parents to her watching Harley struggle with the Joker.

I was scared of my father.  It was truth never brought to light.  As a child, I quivered in fear, understanding the severity of his actions and how it could get worse.  I watched it grow worse.  Black eyes evolved to broken bones.  Psychological manipulation left words and soon took the form of flowers. 

With it all, her garden grew.  It grew along with her injuries as I stood in shadows, watching her cry out in agony then smile the next day with addition to her garden.  Roses, tulips, carnations, morning glories,  so many beautiful flowers bought to make sure she stayed.  So many bought to keep her loyal and blind.

I would wear my hat and water them, sure not to let myself stay in the sun for too long, knowing that it would bring about another fight.  Another fresh myriad of injuries on my mother’s face and arms.  Another genuine smile as she would happily take whatever plants he bought her to “make up for it”.  Then the cycle would start all over again.

It grew from arguments about how much time I was allotted outside to the simplest of things like how the pork roast was too dry or the house hadn’t been vacuumed to perfection.  It went from black eyes to broken bones to having to dig her up from the garden she had loved so much that it bound her to a life pain.

I grew from a confused child to adult that knew how to make people comply.  To a woman who murdered her father because she could, and no one knew any better.  I grew up and knew exactly what I wanted to do.  Reminded by what my father did to my mother. 

Choices were essentially worthless in that sometimes everyone would make the wrong choices.  Making choices that would cost them their lives, costing them their happiness, trapping them in an endless routine of monotony.  The victims were stuck no matter what, no matter if plant, animal, or human.  They were trapped in a cage, not realizing it. 

Going back to everything that caused them pain, just because striking it out on their own was too scary.  Plants had no choice, they grew where they could.  Humans though, they still made the same stupid choices.  Going back only to be hurt again.

I met Harley by chance, and it was the best chance that had happened in a very long time.  Much of my life was painful.  Watching my mother suffer with a smile on her face.  Watching people be so much happier with my pheromones telling them how to feel, only to be arrested for making them better.  Losing all my research because it was owned by a man too cowardly to use it. 

Harley seemed to be completely without worry.  She was excitable, a bit clumsy at times, but overall good human company.  She didn’t understand the importance of what I did to the extent that I wish she did, but she tried to.  That was all anyone could ask for.

Then, to my displeasure, the cycle started all over again.

Imagine my surprise when a clown was in my home, gathering up the things I had worked for.  Imagine my anger when I heard him say that it was nothing in the grand scheme of things.  His surprise when his poison failed to kill me—the polar opposite of Harley’s obvious relief.  The disgusting smile that remained on his face when I almost took his arm off.

The only thing that stopped me was Harley.  Begging for me not to kill him, because “he isn’t that bad, honest”.  My stomach twisted in memory of my mother saying those exact words when I had told her I wanted to call the police.  For a moment, my parents stood in front of me, not the Joker and Harley Quinn.  For a moment, all I saw was my mother leaning uncertainly against a wall, staring at my father with a strange look of adoration despite her injuries. 

I hesitated, staring at Harley—perhaps the only human that I had ever come to care about in years.  Wide-eyed Harley staring between the Joker and me, as if she couldn’t figure out which was better.

She left with him.

Then she came back.

Then left.

Came back.

Left.

Came back once more.

It was as if she couldn’t figure the worse fate.  Living with the Joker, who had battered and bruised her and cut out her heart many times before, seemed to still have some sort of allure to her. 

Left again.

Came back again, somehow.  Blood dripping onto the floor until I successfully bandaged her side.   Crying into my arms like she was going to die there. 

Left.

Came back.

She had the sense to leave.  She could break the routine if she wanted.  She was breaking it, until she went back to him.  She nod seriously at what I was saying, telling her she needed to stay away from him.  Then, whenever she got that fateful call promising an apology, she’d run back.

It within itself had become a routine.  Yet another cycle that I watched repeat itself, over and over again.  Repeating so much that any bystander would get sick watching how it got worse with time.

Then he left her in streets.  Having nowhere to go, she came back.  When he called her, she said “No thanks”.  I stared at her cold resolved as she slammed the phone down on the receiver.  She breathed so heavily that it seemed like she would fall apart if something else happened. 

Harley mumbled something about wondering if she could stay longer than usual.  I acquiesced, because frankly, I had not one problem with it so long as she didn’t ruin any of my work. 

“Heya, Red.  Anyone tell you you’re the best?”  Harley said one day with nothing to even prompt such a question. 

“No.”

Harley leaned against me with a smile on her face.  The last of the bruises had been gone for months, and the last of the stitches had been removed earlier in the week.  Harley looked like the same carefree Harley Quinn I had first met.  A goofy grin and leisurely stance as she leaned over me, looking at the roses I was watering. 

“Well, you are.  I wouldn’t have even been here if you weren’t around,  ya know?”  I looked at Harley with what I hoped was an incredulous expression.  In fact, I did know exactly what would  have happened to Harley if she stayed with the Joker. 

Without a warning, Harley planted a kiss on my lips then walked to another room, calling out, “Yeah, you really are the best!

The cycle would start over again, somewhere with someone else.  But for now, just for a moment, I was no longer haunted by the memory of my mother under the rose bushes.  It was just a normal day.  For a split second, I was simply Pam Isley, taking care of the plants just like I had when I was a child.  Though I smiled with the idea that I  was not the same as I had been as a child.

Pamela Isley was not a bystander, not anymore, not ever again; I would not stand silent while those with power abused those without.  I am Poison Ivy, and I will be the deliverer of the oppressed's revenge.


End file.
